The Legacy of Salazar

Amelia Bones

Quaint. Refined. Stern.

All adjectives that he would use to describe the woman herself, but Albus Dumbledore found that they also applied to her office. Reflecting the minimalist style of its occupant, the office bore only the barest touch of personalization. There were no family photos, one plain lamp burned with a rich amber hue, and three regal chairs with musky red fabric stood around a solid desk. But there, hanging on the back wall, was a painting. Even for the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, an original would've been difficult to come by—but it was a convincing replica. The orange and yellow of the sunflowers washed over the room in a warm glow, and Dumbledore appraised it for a long moment before turning his attention back to the woman before him.

Amelia Bones stood beside her desk, peering through her monocle at a file resting upon the mahogany wood, a frown tugging on her face. It was enlightening to know that a woman with such a strict demeanour nonetheless appreciated fine art.

"That is a lovely painting, Madam Bones."

She did not look at him, but her lips quirked upward. "Vase with twelve sunflowers,"

"Van Gogh, correct?"

She nodded and at last looked up at him. Her blue eyes were so light that they bordered on grey, giving them a frosty chill. Dumbledore could remember how even at Hogwarts those eyes had appeared stern. "These are very serious accusations, Headmaster."

Dumbledore held her gaze, surveying her from behind his half-moon spectacles. "Indeed they are."

A loud knock came from the office door and Amelia Bones turned to look at it with a touch of irritation on her face. "Yes?" she called and the door opened to reveal a short portly man wearing a green bowler hat. "Ah, Minister." She didn't sound the least bit surprised to see him, and she took a turn about her desk as the man entered.

"Cornelius," Dumbledore greeted warmly, and his eyes flickered down to the Minister's shoes. Ah, yes those were the fine pointed purple boots he knew. "I take it you've heard?"

Cornelius Fudge did not reply immediately. His skin looked sallow, and the smallest glimmer of panic shone in his eyes before he coughed and removed his hat. "You've had Professor Quirrell arrested?" he asked, and he glanced toward Amelia Bones as though searching for confirmation.

"At the present moment," Dumbledore corrected shortly, "he is under secure care at St. Mungo's Hospital, due some ah—unfortunate circumstances."

"Oh yes, I've heard!" And Cornelius started to swell, his face flushing with colour. "Student attacked by a professor; the press is having a field day."

"And you have," Amelia said glancing from one to the other, "more serious accusations."

"There's more?" Cornelius blustered and he threw himself down in one of Amelia's chairs.

"I'm afraid he must face a full criminal trial and must be kept under constant watch until safely locked away." Dumbledore shook his head, an image of unforgiving stonewalls and black despair plaguing his mind. He had no love for Azkaban and even less for the creatures that guarded it but he knew perfectly well that Quirrell could not remain free in the world. "He attacked a Hogwarts student, attempted to steal the property of another wizard, and was doing so under the orders of none other than Lord Voldemort himself."

Cornelius stared at him, a mixture of emotions flashing in his light brown eyes. Shock, repulsion, fear, and doubt each took their turn before the man coughed and shook his head. "No—no, I'm afraid that's just simply impossible. He's gone."

Dumbledore turned his entire body to face him, meeting the man's eyes. "He's not, Cornelius," he said softly. "He is merely weakened, but very much alive if one can call it that."

Cornelius scoffed and rose to his feet, coming to stand behind the chair as though to put a barrier between himself and Dumbledore's words. "Sounds like the ravings of a madman, Dumbledore. I assure you, we are quite safe from him."

"Such a claim," Amelia interrupted, "must be backed up evidence." She shot a sharp glance in Cornelius's direction effectively cutting off whatever protest he had begun.

"Of course," Dumbledore said. "I expected no less."

She nodded and finally took a seat at her desk. "Time is of the essence, and so please submit all evidence to the Council of Magical Law Enforcement as soon as possible. At which time, a hearing will be scheduled to hear testimonials, review the aforementioned evidence, and determine if there is enough substance to proceed to a criminal trial."

"Hold on!" Cornelius said, his voice rising. "You can't seriously think that this professor was working with You-Know-Who? It's preposterous—"

"I have jumped to no such conclusion," Amelia smoothly cut across. "I will review all the evidence before I make a determination. Whether or not he was affiliated with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Professor Quirrell attempted to steal the property of Nicolas Flamel and assaulted—even attempted to murder— a Hogwarts student. All of which are serious charges and each must be examined in turn."

Cornelius Fudge blustered for a moment, looking both affronted by her clear disregard for his authority as Minister of Magic and defeated by her logic. He took a deep breath and released his hold on the back of the chair. "Fine," he said and he started to fiddle with his bowler hat. "Keep me informed," and he exited the office.

Dumbledore watched him leave and sighed when the door had shut once more. "He has always been adamant that Voldemort was defeated, never accepting the possibility that such defeat was only temporary."

Amelia readjusted her monocle, surveying the file of papers more closely. "He's not the only one, Albus." She opened one of the drawers in her desk and removed a candle and a stamp. "I will need statements from you and all your staff regarding Professor Quirrell's character and any suspicions concerning him. In particular, from the boy he attacked—" she glanced at the file again, "Mr Merlin Evans."

Dumbledore hesitated, something that surprised Amelia. Her brows rose and she spoke for him, "You don't want him to testify."

"Eleven is hardly old enough for such adult matters," Dumbledore said shaking his head.

"Well, this eleven-year-old was able to knock out a fully fledged wizard," Amelia said and Dumbledore could hear the smallest tone of awe in her voice. "He is also your strongest piece of evidence." She paused a moment. "I know you wish to protect him, but he's the one who brought Quirrell down. Don't you think he deserves to finish the job?"

Dumbledore did not frown, but his lip twitched. "As always, you make a very good point." His gaze drifted toward the painted sunflowers and somehow he found comfort in their design. He nodded and got to his feet. "I will organize the evidence immediately, and submit the names of all those who will be testifying. You will have it by tomorrow."

"Then I will send you an owl tomorrow with the hearing date. After its conclusion, the council will decide how to proceed. " She flicked her wand and the candle hovered over one of the documents and began to melt. It dripped a small puddle before ceasing and lying flat on the desk once again. She took the stamp in her hand and pressed it, engraving her seal on the document.

"I'm astonished that this first-year boy was able to stop Quirrell." She looked up at him, a real smile now trying to make its way onto her face. "Such a feat is incredible, to say the least."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he returned her smile with one of his own. "To say the least, my dear Madam Bones, to say the least."